“This is your temporary pass for today,” she says, sliding it across the desk. “You’ll need to go to the first floor at some point this afternoon to have your picture taken for your full pass, which will last you the two months. Have a seat over there with the other intern and someone will be here shortly to pick you up.”
“Great! Thanks so much!”
She gives me a dismissive nod, her eyes focused on her computer screen. I reach into my handbag for the travel-sized hairbrush lurking in the depths somewhere, aware that the heat of the tube and the race to the office will have caused a certain amount of frizz that I’d like to tame before meeting my (hopefully) future employer.
All the seats in the waiting area are empty bar one: the “other intern,” I take it. He’s wearing a suit and tie and it’s obvious he’s nervous because he’s sitting bolt upright and he keeps glancing hopefully at the elevators whenever one pings and the doors open.
As I join him, unsuccessfully tugging my brush through the bird’s nest that is my hair, he looks up and our eyes meet.
Two things are immediately obvious:
1. He has the most beautiful blue eyes I’ve ever seen. ve ever seen ve ever seen ve ever seen ve ever seen ve ever seen
2. I utterly baffle him.
His brow furrows in confusion, his eyes narrowing as I breeze over, and I suddenly feel a wave of both anxiety and indignation under such intense and shameless scrutiny. He is gorgeous, with his defined jawline, combed fair hair, and striking eyes, but there’s something standoffish about him.
He tenses as I approach.
Deciding to give him the benefit of the doubt, I offer a warm smile, making a beeline for the chair next to his.
“Hi,” I say brightly. “I’m Harper. I’m an intern, too. It’s really nice to… uh… oh… hang on…”
I trail off as I battle with my hairbrush that seems to have become entangled with a preexisting knot. Struggling to release it, I attempt humor, dropping my hands to my waist and leaving the hairbrush dangling from my head.
“You think they’ll notice?” I quip.
He looks bewildered, the lines on his forehead deepening as he stares at me. When he doesn’t answer, I shrug, then proceed to wrench the brush from my hair.
“I suppose I should learn from this,” I say to him. “I was standing on the tube, right at the end of the carriage and the window was open. Great spot for getting a breeze when you’re slammed in like sardines, butterriblefor your hair, right?”
He hesitates, before saying quietly, “Okay.”
“So, what’s your name?”
“Ryan.”
“I didn’t realize there were two of us.”
“Excuse me?”
“Two interns onThe Daily Bulletin.”
His eyes widen in horror. “You’re an intern atThe Daily Bulletin,too?”
“That’s right. Here for two months. You?”
“Same.”
“Looks like we’ll be working together, then!”
He turns his head away from me, staring straight on before muttering, “Maybe we’ll be in different departments.”
My smile drops; I’m stunned at his overt rudeness. Fine. Ryan is an absolute dickhead, and hebetterhope we’re in different departments.
After fifteen minutes of silence, a woman in her twenties dressed head to toe in black walks toward us, typing something into her phone. She continues to tap away for a minute beforetearing her eyes away from her screen and letting out a sigh as though we’re disturbing her.
“Ryan and Harper?”
